Challenge Accepted!
by A. Strudel
Summary: Prussia challenges Austria to write some porn with him topping.  It was a masterpiece in Austria's eyes, but to Prussia...?


Whoo hooo! Yay band geekery! Heh. It's a fic... inside a fic... FICEPTION?

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><p>"Yo, Austria!" A foul chord on the piano screeched in cacophony when the glasses-wearing pianist jumped rather ungentlemanly, hearing the boisterous voice from the window behind him. Austria was ready for his daily dose of "awesome", as Prussia put it, or rather pain in his own point of view, and shut the piano lid.<p>

"I suppose you have nothing better to do in Ludwig's house if you are bothering me," Austria said offhandedly, taking white gloves off a nearby table to put them on. Prussia climbed through the open square in the wall, making Austria grimace as he noticed dirt tracks.

"Why're you always playin' the piano when I come here? Can't you do something more manly?" Prussia scoffed. He crossed his arms. "Like, I don't know, playing teahouse? Whoops, even that's too manly for you." With a cackling "kesesesese!" he continued to taunt his neighbor. "Or at least, watch porn, or something. Your dick _does_ have a purpose, right?"

Austria pursed his lips uncomfortably. "That is quite an distasteful term, Prussia."

As always, Prussia ignored those kinds of comments-the ones where Austria acknowledged that he couldn't take his excess awesome. "I've got a bet for you. And, hell, I'll even tone it down for you. If you, err..." Prussia said, his eyes shifted to his right in thought, "write some porn, then, uhh..."

"You'll never bother me ever again, for the rest of history?" Austria finished the sentence hopefully, his eyes suddenly showing bright hope.

"Yeah, yeah, sure. I really doubt you can do it, though," Prussia said with his typical swagger. Even as Austria ran over to his desk where his paper and feather pen were stationed, Prussia stepped out to the window with arrogance. "And make me top somebody! There's nothing better than making somebody my bitch," Prussia added, ducking under the window.

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><p>As soon as the arduous rehearsal was brought to an end, most of the orchestra's musicians scattered about to return home, leaving Herr Ludwig and Gilbert to their own ministrations. Upon meeting the conductor's gaze by chance, Herr Ludwig glowered at him, and Gilbert shrunk in his seat.<p>

"I see you have not been practicing your trombone very much, _Dummkopf,"_ Ludwig scolded in his deep timbre, but in a strangely calm demeanor that Gilbert was afraid of. "How about we have a little lesson, hm?" As the silver haired man stayed put in his seat, the blond conductor walked over. He looked especially young to be a frontsman of an orchestra, his luminous, thick hair slicked back, his complexion smooth, his attractive, muscular body veiled by his professional coal-black suit, but it did not take much to realize that this man must have many people vying over him.

"I have! Why do you doubt my awesomeness, Herr-" Gilbert was quelled by Ludwig's firm, warm digit.

"You are to show me absolute respect," the composed conductor said unequivocally. "I'm new here, but I can tell whoever last managed this group did a sloppy job. You need to be punished. You need to learn from pain." He nudged towards the trombone in Gilbert's hands. "Put that away."

"W-what? But aren't you going to teach me how to play it better?" Gilbert put it away obediently nonetheless, avoiding the intimidating glare that was given to him, bending down to place his instrument into its shaped mold of a case. He returned back to his seat, his hands in his lap. "Now what?"

"I will have to assess your embouchure," Ludwig said. He didn't say more, except to express some self-assured smirk, and Gilbert gasped when the handsome man's face drew closer and closer to his own, bringing his lips to Gilbert's. Gilbert, having little experience, had no idea what to do when he felt a tongue prod his lips open, managing to make the kiss very clumsy and messy.

"Terrible! You are hardly utilizing any of the muscles at the sides of your mouth!" admonished Ludwig, whose lips were shiny and puckered. "Hopefully you will excel at vocabulary." He ducked down to his pupil's trousers and unzipped them, Gilbert blushing floridly above him.

Ludwig tongued at the unyielding erection in Gilbert's briefs, drawing a low-pitched groan from the silver-locked man's throat. He pressed onward, lapping at his testicles teasingly. Gilbert was about ready to clutch at Ludwig's hair if he didn't pick up the pace any time soon. "Please, please," he sighed frustratedly, "Just... go already!"

"Excuse me?" Herr Ludwig looked up from between Gilbert's legs. "I believe there's a word for that." Gilbert groaned in embarrassment, not believing for a moment that he actually has to beg for sex using musical terminology.

"_Accelerando,_ Herr Ludwig," he said timidly, and Herr Ludwig obliged him. He finally pulled the elastic band down and stroked his tongue at Gilbert's cock, and then took the whole length into his mouth. Gilbert dared not to look down to see that the very same mouth that scolded him, admonished him, and insulted him was pleasuring him. Instead, he bucked his hips into the velvety lips, and whined when Ludwig held them down with his strong hands. "Mhmm... hah... more," Gilbert panted, and he was very close to his orgasm. When nothing was done, he realized his mistake.

"_Moto mosso,"_ he corrected himself, and Herr Ludwig took the length deeper into his mouth, scraping the length with his teeth, making Gilbert shudder. "_Dolce_," Gilbert whispered, his words nearly incomprehensible, fingers locked into his superior's blond hair. Then, at once he stiffened, and came into the Ludwig's mouth, heaving with a heavy sigh.

Without a word Herr Ludwig licked some of the come off his face, and smiled. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow, correct? Don't be late to tomorrow's rehearsal, _Dummkopf._"

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><p>Prussia's eyes bore through the work of fiction with fiery lasers. <em>Did... I just beg West to blow me in Italian?<em> Instead of being rewarded with a big smile and his promise to never bother Austria again and therefore completing his path to happiness, he was punched bluntly in the face.

"M-my glasses...!" Austria cried, holding up one of the broken shards in his right lens.

"What the fuck is this!" Prussia screeched. "For one thing, I don't understand half the words in there! What the fuck is an 'unequivocally?' And even though I don't play the trombone... I'm sure I will be fucking AWESOME at it!" He coarsely shredded the fine sheets of paper with his hands. What a waste, Austria spent days with that fine-quality feather pen... "And another thing, WHY WEST? I- I do _not_ feel that way for him!"

"Well, your directions were to write someone with you in it, and I doubt you'd let France touch you," Austria said bitterly, attempt to piece his lens together.

"I told you to write me _on top!_"

"But you are on top."

"How the hell so?"

"Listen, here," Austria said, taking back his pornographic masterpiece into his gloved hands. "'Gilbert dared not to look down to see'... you were looking _down_ to see. That means that you were on top, by logic." Prussia smacked his forehead instantaneously.

"No, you _Arschloch,_ a top is-agh, forget it! Whatever you do, don't show West this. He'll probably throw me out the window. Or worse," Prussia pondered tensely, "he'd get all horny and try to fuck in half. Whatever, I doubt you'd send him a copy of this shit!" He made an impromptu exit through the same window he always used, out to the Austrian gardens.

Austria looked after him in a blank stare. _Oops..._

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><p>The last line? Take that as you will. ;)<p> 


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